


Limits and Outlines

by rufflefeather



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: M/M, Non-Graphic Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-03-06
Updated: 2012-03-06
Packaged: 2017-11-01 13:55:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,542
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/357565
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rufflefeather/pseuds/rufflefeather
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Merlin is ill, Arthur and Gwaine both feel helpless.</p><p>Disclaimer: I own nothing to do with Merlin, and very little besides.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Limits and Outlines

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the Forced Bed-Sharing Fest.

The room is scorching hot. So is the tea cradled by Gwaine’s fingers, still pale and bloodless from the grueling ride. Shadows dart and flicker across the floor, dancing to the rhythm of the blazing fire. It stings his skin where it chases away the near frostbite, and he stretches out his feet toward it, wondering how Merlin is. The ride had been too long, too cold and too demanding. He had wanted to hate Arthur for it. For the harsh words, the snide comments and the soft hands as they pulled a half unconscious Merlin into Arthur’s saddle, hoping the shared body heat would keep him alive. But they couldn’t spend another night outside of Camelot’s borders, Gwaine realizes that. He also realizes the stubborn set of his mouth, and the tightening around his eyes as he insults Merlin into retaliation when he is about to pass out, is the only way Arthur knows how to love.

He sips his tea until the warmth passes through the ice in his veins and maybe a little between the ache in his chest.

He doesn’t need to look up to know who enters his room, without knocking. ‘How is he?’ he asks, not taking his eyes off the flames.

‘Lancelot is with him, so is the village physician. If he survives the night, he will live.’

‘Take a seat, Princess,’ Gwaine tells him, slapping a flat palm against the bench beside him. Arthur sinks down, his sigh soft but resigned. After a minute or two, he snorts. ‘What?’ Gwaine asks him, finally lifting his eyes from the fire to the prince.

‘You,’ Arthur huffs, kicking Gwaine’s boot.

‘What have I done this time?’ Gwaine kicks back, unable to suppress the grin pulling at the corner of his mouth. Arthur shakes his head.

‘Not only do I get the most insufferable manservant that just about dies, whenever there is a puff of wind,’ Arthur’s smile falters a little, and Gwaine looks away. ‘But,’ Arthur continues after a pause and an elbow to the ribs. ‘The knights that decide to follow me are either indolent, self-satisfied rogues, or think they can boss me about.’

‘Who bossed you about?’ Gwaine asks him, and Arthur’s chin drops a little, bottom lip sticking out. The fire casts a glow over his hair, and it looks like molten gold.

‘Lancelot kicked me out of the room,’ he says. ‘Told me to go sleep somewhere else, or I’ll get no rest.’

‘So,’ Gwaine says, after a bit of a stunned silence. ‘You are here to beg my bed are you?’

‘I do not beg-‘ Arthur flairs up with a flush that may be the heat of the fire. ‘Bastard,’ he adds, when he sees Gwaine’s grin, adding a slap to the back of his head for good measure.

‘You do that again,’ Gwaine tells him, flicking the hair out of his eyes. ‘And I’ll slap you back. I’m not Merlin, I give as good as I get.’

‘Do you?’ Arthur asks him, eyes darkened by the shadows in the room or something else entirely, and Gwaine feels his mouth go a little dry. But before the moment can linger and stretch into something else, something heavy with heat that has nothing to do with fire, something distressing and soothing at the same time, there is knock. Gwaine rises, maybe a little too fast and opens the door.

‘Lancelot,’ he says and he doesn’t need to look around to know Arthur has risen to his feet. ‘Come in.’ Lancelot shakes his head.

‘What is it?’ Arthur calls. ‘Is it Merlin? Is he worse?’

‘You have to come,’ Lancelot whispers, ‘without Arthur.’

Gwaine wants to question him, ask him why, what is going on, but the look on Lancelot’s face prevents him.

‘What is it?’ Arthur repeats, making for the door.

‘I just have to go help for a moment Arthur, why don’t you stay here?’ he tells him, arms outstretched and palms held up in a gesture that is meant to appease but has the opposite effect. Gwaine can see how Arthur’s eyes narrow, how his shoulders tense and his chin lifts as if he steels himself.

‘He’s worse isn’t he?’ he says. Gwaine and Lancelot both hear the tremor in his voice but keep the pity out of their eyes.

‘No,’ Gwaine lies, ‘I just-‘

Arthur is fast, he moves in a fluent billow of red and metal but Gwaine places himself between Arthur and the door.

‘Get,’ Arthur hisses, eyes blazing, ‘out of my way.’

‘Gwaine,’ Lancelot says behind him, and there is something in the tone of his voice that sends a chill down Gwaine’s spine. It could rival with the coldest of winds.

‘I’m sorry about this Sire,’ Gwaine says and punches Arthur in the face. Arthur barely has the time to open his mouth in question, before he crumples down on the floor. ‘This better be worth it, Lancelot,’ he hisses as he drags the knight through the corridor. ‘Because I’m going to have a very grouchy Princess on my hands later.

‘Merlin is leaking magic,’ Lancelot tells him.

‘Shit. How? Shit!’ Gwaine stares at Lancelot, his fingers digging into his elbow.

‘Yes,’ Lancelot confirms Gwaine’s silent question. ‘It is the fever, causing him to lose control. The physician has a bit of magic too. He has made and charmed a potion but whenever we go near Merlin, he lashes out.’

‘And what, exactly,’ Gwaine wants to know, lowering his voice as they enter Merlin’s room. ‘Do you think I can do against ma-. Oh, Merlin.’ Gwaine’s fists clench to his sides and he has to take a deep breath through his nose, because his jaw is clamped tightly shut.

Merlin is lying in cluster of blankets, on a large bed in the corner of the room. His hair is damp with sweat as he writhes from side to side, a blue light radiating from his palms. Beneath his quivering eyelids, his eyes flash golden.

‘You know,’ Gwaine says, his voice hoarse and choked, not quite turning to Lancelot by his side. ‘If anyone will be able to calm him, it will be Arthur.’

‘I know,’ Lancelot says. ‘But Arthur isn't aware of-. We may have no choice anyway, but please, just try.’

‘All right,’ Gwaine tells him, allowing Lancelot to lead him forward. ‘All right.’ As soon as Lancelot reaches out, Merlin’s eyes flare open and the eerie light in his hands brightens, drawing all the heat of the room.

‘Merlin,’ Gwaine whispers, as the physician retreats quickly. ‘It’s me Gwaine. Come on mate, you know we’re not going to hurt you.’ He suppresses a shiver, when the golden eyes dart to his face and see right through him. ‘You have a fever my friend, you need to calm down a bit yeah?’ Carefully, one slow step at a time, he approaches the bed. Merlin scrambles up, so his back comes to rest against the wall, but his elbows shiver and tremble, like he might sink through them at any moment.

‘You know I wouldn’t harm you, right?’ Gwaine continues, and he tries not to feel the surge of pity to see Merlin like this. Trapped, frightened and alone. ‘Hey,’ he whispers, lifting one knee onto the bed and reaching out one hand. ‘You know I’m your friend.’ Gwaine glances over his shoulder. Lancelot and the physician stand by the door and Gwaine fervently hopes he knocked out Arthur good and proper. ‘I’m your friend Merlin,’ he repeats, edging closer still. Merlin tilts his head to the side, like a curious bird.

'Friend?’ he asks, his voice rasping and otherworldly.

‘Yeah,’ Gwaine says, with a small smile, that Merlin almost returns. ‘I-,’ he drops his voice even further. ‘I care about you Merlin, you know that. You have always known that.’

‘I am Arthur’s,’ Merlin says, very matter of factly and it goes through Gwaine like a dagger.

‘Yeah,’ he says, gently cupping Merlin's face with one hand. ‘I know. That is why you need to drink this.’ He motions to the physician, who hurries forward and gives him the potion. ‘For Arthur, Merlin. You need to get better for Arthur. He needs you.’

‘He needs me?’ Merlin whispers, his voice small and suddenly much more human.

‘Yeah, he needs you.’ Gwaine tells him, swallowing back the other things he wants to say. Because it doesn’t matter. If Merlin decides to live, it won’t be for him.

‘Okay then,’ Merlin says, with a genuine smile. Gwaine brings the potion to his lips, and Merlin drinks obediently, before sagging down into oblivion. He holds him for a moment, runs a finger over his cheekbone, and whispers; ‘Get better Merlin. For all our sakes.’

Gwaine has just lowered him down, and covered him with blankets, when the door bursts open.

With a final glance at Merlin, Gwaine is off the bed and on his feet, pushing against the prince, who is trying to walk right through him. ‘Do to me what you must,’ he hisses in Arthur’s ear. ‘But let Merlin sleep.’

Arthur’s eyes flash from Merlin to Gwaine, who is less than a breath away, arms firmly wrapped around his shoulders, effectively stopping his advance. He is breathing heavy, the chain mail rising and falling in short, uneven motions. Gwaine almost looks away under his stare, and he almost flinches at the blooming bruise on his jaw but he holds firm. ‘Not in front of Merlin,’ he whispers. ‘We can’t wake him.’ Arthur shoves him away.

‘How is he?’ he bites at the physician, who swallows noisily and bows his head.

‘Peaceful for the first time, my Lord. There is hope.’

‘Good,’ Arthur says. ‘Good.’ He runs a hand through his hair and down the back of his neck. His mouth opens and he looks like he might say something else, like he might reach for Merlin and put a hand on his brow, on his cheek. Instead, he turns and walks to the door. ‘You,’ he spits at Gwaine in passing. ‘With me.’

Arthur doesn’t look around until he enters the room. When Gwaine closes the door behind them and turns, he is met with a fist to his face.

‘Shit,’ he shouts. ‘Ow.’

‘Give me one reason,’ Arthur says, his voice tense and tight as he slowly pulls his sword out of its sheath. His whole body trembles with restrained anger. ‘Why I shouldn’t run you through this instant.’

Gwaine knows then. He knows Arthur will forgive Merlin. It will take time, and it will hurt, but he will forgive him. But it isn’t his secret to share. ‘The physician has magic,’ he lies, unblinking. ‘It was the only way to save Merlin. We had no time for you to have a chinwag with your honor and your conscience. So I took the decision away from you.’

Arthur throws his sword to the side, rushes up to Gwaine and shoves him against the wall. ‘You had no right,’ he says between clenched teeth. ‘You had no right.’

‘Get off your royal horse Arthur, I did what needed to be done.’ Gwaine closes his hands around Arthur’s wrists, ready to wrench them away from his jacket.

‘If Merlin dies because of this. If he dies because of magic-‘ Arthur snaps, his face very close to Gwaine’s.

‘He won’t, all right? It saved him. Now let go. I know you’re not going to kill me and I’m tired. I’m sure you need your beauty sleep too.’

‘You punched me,’ Arthur says, the anger in his voice replaced by what sounds a little like surprise.

‘Yeah, and I’ll do it again if you don’t let go of me right now.’ Gwaine grins lazily and waggles his eyebrows. ‘Unless you want to do something else that requires close proximity.’

Arthur pushes himself away and his eyes widen as the meaning of Gwaine’s words sink in. Gwaine is joking, really, until he sees some of the vulnerability Arthur never displays before anyone but Merlin. ‘How dare you?’ Arthur breathes, his cheeks flushing. But the indignation isn’t as passioned as it could be. Gwaine doesn’t buy it. He takes in Arthur’s eyes, blue and silver in the dying firelight and feels a sudden urge to reach out and touch his face. Arthur’s flush deepens when they look at each other just a little too long. ‘How dare you,’ he repeats but this time, Gwaine sees the punch coming and ducks.

Arthur lunges again, but he is burdened by the metal still on his body and Gwaine easily sidesteps him. He makes use of Arthur’s momentum, and pushes him up against the wall. Not giving Arthur the chance the spin around, he steps in and holds him there.

‘You are pushing your limits, Gwaine,’ Arthur tells him, barely out of breath. The armor digs into Gwaine’s chest and arms, but he ignores it. ‘Even for you this is going too far.’ Arthur shoves back against him, testing him, but Gwaine doesn’t budge. He can smell the combination of metal and earthy leather, and something infinitely more soft, and sweet. Unintentionally, Gwaine leans in to capture that scent and inhale it, just below Arthur’s ear. His lips almost brush the skin of his neck, and he feels Arthur shiver against his chest.

‘Don’t-‘ Arthur begins, but Gwaine silences him by pushing a leg between Arthur’s spread thighs.

‘Come on Arthur,’ Gwaine whispers, his eyes on Arthur’s mouth. ‘You don’t have to be the prince with me. You don’t have to fill the outline of the future king here. Just give in. Give in to me, come on.’

For a moment he thinks Arthur relaxes beneath him and a glorious warmth starts to spread from his chest toward his thighs. But then Arthur says; ‘Let me go, Gwaine,’ and the feeling is gone. Gwaine closes his eyes. With a soft sigh, he steps away from the wall and Arthur. The fire is shooting sparks from the last of the burning coals, the only sound in the room, until Arthur moves. He fully expects to be hit now, and makes no effort to avoid it. Arthur comes at him, throwing the belt with the empty sheath to the ground. His fist closes in and Gwaine watches it with mild interest, but instead of colliding with his jaw, it fastens around the hair in his neck.

Arthur’s mouth is hot, and wet and hungry. He doesn’t wait for Gwaine to respond, he doesn’t hesitate, but pushes his tongue right into Gwaine’s mouth. Gwaine licks at it, sucks on it, opens his own mouth further to take it in, lets it assault him and moans with a desire he didn’t know he held.

‘Shit,’ Arthur breathes and Gwaine instantly puts his hands on Arthur’s arms, making sure he can’t move away.

‘Yes,’ Gwaine says, licking at the corner of Arthur’s mouth, biting at his lips, cupping his face with his hands and holding him there, moving his entire body into the kiss. ‘Give it to me Arthur, all that anger, all that frustration. I can take it. Just give it to me.’

Arthur grunts something unintelligible, marks Gwaine’s mouth with his tongue and his teeth, pulling at his hair like he needs something to hold him down. He moves his mouth to Gwaine’s neck and sucks a bruise in the dip below his ear. Gwaine wants to laugh at the ferocity of it all but he is overwhelmed by such all-embracing lust, he can’t find his voice. And this may not be who he truly wants, this may not be who he wants to hold and caress and whisper to in the dark. This may not be who he wants to protect and wake up next to, but then he means neither of those things to Arthur. And that is not what this is about. This is release of anger and fear. This is to forget, for just a little while. And if they both try to forget different things, if Gwaine tries to forget he will never have this with who he wants, and if Arthur tries to forget the weight of a Kingdom rests on his shoulders, does it really matter?

Gwaine tugs the chain mail over Arthur’s head, who moves with even greater purpose now that his body has been freed of its weight. Gwaine learns that Arthur’s hands are callused from sword fighting, but that the insides of his wrists are soft and delicate. He learns that Arthur is ticklish below his left ear, but not his right. He learns that Arthur can kiss like he’s desperate for it, like the only air he can breathe comes right out of Gwaine’s lungs. And he learns that Arthur is not afraid to kneel before another man.

‘Tell me what to do,’ Arthur croaks, and if it costs him to say those words, he doesn’t show it. Maybe this is what he needs for once, to not be in charge, to have someone else take control.

‘You’ve never done this?’ Gwaine asks, his voice lifting in disbelief. His fingers drift through Arthur’s hair as he shakes his head, jaw tight. Gwaine runs a finger across it, the line strong and straight and tantalizing. ‘Relax,’ he says, cupping Arthur’s cheek. He breathes in deeply, and his shoulders sag a little. ‘Now open. Open your mouth.’ Arthur complies with such ease, such submission, it makes Gwaine’s balls contract. He doesn’t wait, doesn’t hesitate, but slides his cock into the invitation of Arthur’s mouth.

‘Mind your teeth,’ he says, voice rough. ‘Now suck.’

Arthur complies.

‘Ah, yes,’ Gwaine groans, letting his head fall back. ‘Move Arthur, move.’ Arthur moves his mouth up Gwaine’s length carefully, the heat and wetness enough to bring him to the brink. But Gwaine holds back, bites his lip and traps his breath, waits for the searing demand for release to wane a little. ‘Good,’ he finally whispers on an exhale. ‘Now press your tongue up against me and pull back. Like that, yes. God, Arthur, suck. Suck.’ When he opens his eyes to the ceiling, the world swims a little and he can feel small, uneven tremors ripple through him. He looks down then, and the sight is almost enough for his knees to buckle.

Arthur is looking up at him, mouth stretched wide and glistening with spit. ‘Again,’ Gwaine whispers, not breaking eye contact. ‘Again. Harder now, faster.’

Again, Arthur complies.

When the pressure starts to build, when his balls start to ache with the need for it, Gwaine tangles his finger’s in the golden hair. ‘Arthur,’ he says, because Arthur had closed his eyes. They open in a flash of sky blue and lashes. ‘I’m going to fuck your mouth now, okay Arthur?’ Gwaine tells him. Arthur can only give him the hint of a nod and they keep their eyes on each other, as Arthur braces himself against Gwaine’s thighs and Gwaine thrusts into Arthur’s mouth, trying not to go too deep, but every once in a while losing a little bit of his control, making Arthur choke. But he never pulls back and even when his eyes start to water, he keeps watching Gwaine, who is letting out low grunts and who is losing rhythm until he releases into Arthur’s mouth with a strangled curse.

Arthur immediately rises to his feet, and pushes the still hot come into Gwaine’s mouth with a filthy kiss and a slick tongue. Gwaine licks it, gasps and swallows it all down.

‘How did it feel?’ Gwaine whispers when the kiss is broken and they are leaning against each other, fists tangled in each other’s clothes. ‘To relinquish your power for a while?’

A small smile tugs at Arthur’s red, swollen lips. He thinks for a bit, then says; ’Surprisingly easy, actually. It is nice, to lose control.’

‘But you are going to take it back now, aren’t you?’

‘Oh yes,’ Arthur breathes, manhandling Gwaine onto the bed, while pulling down his breeches, before straddling Gwaine’s chest. ‘I am.’

Gwaine learns that Arthur’s breath catches when he pushes his cock into Gwaine’s mouth. He learns what Arthur looks like with his arms stretched toward the headboard and head tilted back. He learns how his hair turns a little red in the dying fire. He learns how Arthur bites his lip to keep quiet as Gwaine sucks and licks and draws him in. He learns that Arthur cries out a name that isn’t Gwaine’s when he comes with long, pulsing jerks. He learns that Arthur looks young and vulnerable when he falls asleep with his head burrowed in Gwaine's arms.

Gwaine wakes up the next morning, to Arthur staring at him. He blinks, smiles slowly and then traces a finger over his cheekbone.

‘You know I am Merlin’s, don’t you?’ Arthur tells him softly, something like an apology in his eyes that Gwaine doesn’t want to see.

‘That’s funny,’ Gwaine says as he pushes himself up on one elbow, running a hand through Arthur’s hair and pressing a soft kiss to his assaulted mouth. ‘Merlin said the same about you.’

His chest aches a little less, when he sees the look on Arthur’s face.  


**Author's Note:**

> [Here at LJ.](http://rufflefeather.livejournal.com/7960.html?#cutid1)


End file.
